Shana was by the cash register when they went downstairs, counting quarters two at a time. When she saw Simon behind Casey she lifted an eyebrow and with the ease of long practice swept a handful of coins into the drawer, but her first question was, “How’s Avery?”

  “I just talked to him on the phone for a second. I’ll get the details when I go down to see him this afternoon.”

  “Oh, thank God.” Shana bumped the register drawer shut with her hip, without even glancing at it. She sounded like she was about to cry. “The last time I did CPR, it was on a friend who had OD’d, and he didn’t make it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “That was another life, Casey -- who’s this?” She studied Simon’s face, brows drawing together in mild suspicion.

  “Simon.” Casey dropped a hand on Simon’s shoulder. “New friend of mine. He’ll be staying here for a little while.”

  “Love your look, man,” Shana glanced at his ears. She tried to sound light, but she didn't smile.

  Simon nodded gravely and asssured her, "Plass-Stick surgery." Plastic wasn't a word in his language, and he pronounced it with an odd accent. Shana looked at him again, more sharply.

  Casey knew she'd be asking pointed questions pretty quickly if he didn't divert her attention. “Simon just got here this morning. He’s crashing in my apartment for now. If he needs anything, will you help?”

  “Sure.” Shana finally dimpled at Simon, apparently having decided to trust Casey's generally good judgment, last disastrous boyfriend aside. To his relief, she changed the subject. “Casey, the ravens are getting into the books in the back of the truck. Was there anything of value in there?”

  “No, they can all go in the dumpster. I’ll take care of it.” The birds were a complete nuisance. This close to the county dump they were very familiar with trash bags, and they would investigate and scatter anything that looked like garbage in hopes of finding food. Abruptly, however, he remembered the box of photo albums on the front seat. He’d forgotten to drop them off at the storage facility’s office, and he always returned personal items.

  Simon wordlessly followed him outside into the chilly February air. There, he stopped short, staring about at the cars in the parking lot and the vehicles whizzing by on the highway beyond. Very dryly, Simon asked, “I supposed those carriages are not pulled by magic?”

  “No magic, I promise. A wise man once said, ‘Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.’ I’ll see if I can find you a book that explains how internal combustion engines work that you can take with you.”

  Avery had parked the pickup next to the dumpster. Simon, despite his injuries and painfully thin frame, started to help. Casey said, “Uh-uh. I’ll get this. Grab the box in the truck’s cab and take it to Shana if you want to do something. Tell her I said to look for the owners’ information in it, but make sure she knows they may be dangerous. I don’t want her calling them. They owned the book that brought you here.”

  Simon nodded understanding. After only a second of studying the unfamiliar mechanism, he opened the truck door and hefted the box of photographs to his shoulder.

  Only after he was gone did Casey realize he’d casually trusted the man who’d stabbed Avery to be alone with one of his best friends. Casey’s gift insisted he was no threat and that everything Simon had said about the geas was true. Even without his Gift, though, Casey could read between the lines. Simon was a man of profound honor and conviction. He had been fighting a fate he considered, with some justification, as worse than death -- and Avery had tried to brain him with a chair. He was no threat to anyone without significant provocation.

  Simon, however, might need some backup. It wouldn’t take Shana long to start asking questions and, shortly after that, to start teasing...

  He started chucking boxes of decrepit books into the dumpster. He’d take a break in a minute to check on them.

  ~~*~~

  Simon tried not to stare as he walked into the room with Shana. She was almost as tall as Casey, though some of that impressive height came from her colorful heels. She wore a bright blue dress covered with a butterfly design, matching the shoes. The dress only came down to her knees, leaving her lower legs bare.

  Both her arms were tattooed, and the butterfly on her left forearm was the most vibrant and detailed he’d ever seen.

  Many Western traders from the islands past Riesteval had skin as dark as hers; however, it was the first time he'd encountered anyone with hair in her particular shades of blue and green. He wasn't certain if it was a wig or real dyed hair, but in either case, it was a striking fashion statement.

  He would have paid good money to see the reaction from the bored biddies of the court had she made an appearance. She would have received great acclaim, as striking as she was. Her presence would have been demanded at every social function. However, they would have gossiped extra-viciously behind her back, as they always did to outsiders.

  He set the box down on the counter and relayed Casey’s message. He agreed with Casey's assessment: The previous owners could be dangerous.

  "Thanks for the warning." Her voice was rich and warm. "Where did you meet Casey?"

  What was the place Casey had said? "...Caniforlia."

  She gave him an odd look. "Where?"

  "C-califorlia?" He knew he was mangling the pronunciation, and by her expression, she found that very odd. The geas gave him a warning twinge. Although his errors were unintentional, he was not following his master’s directions.

  "Where are you from before then?" Shana smiled at him. She seemed more sympathetic than suspicious.

  "Here and there... Casey is a good man."

  Her eyes lit up. "He and Avery are among my closest friends."

  She opened the padded cover of a fat book in the box and abruptly glanced up at two very detailed and realistic paintings on the wall above the counter. Everything was so odd and new in the room that he hadn't noticed them at first. With an almost annoyed tone, Shana said, "Well, that was easy."

  One old and faded image on the wall showed a rather plain and overweight girl who was wearing a pair of knee-length loose-fitting trousers and a faded shirt similar to the one that Casey had given Simon. In his world, he’d have assumed her a peasant woman about to go out to the fields, and exposing a rather scandalous amount of leg, but he didn’t know enough about fashion standards here to judge -- and few peasants in his world could afford portraits. Half-covering her picture was a much fresher and brighter picture of a young man, dressed similarly to the girl. Unadorned block letters on each image indicated that both people were missing.

  Shana made an unhappy face and gestured at the newer image. Her fingernails were painted the same blue as her dress. "Tyler— that's Todd's cousin — brings a fresh poster by every month, upping the reward each time. Tyler’s got a gift for social media, and I guess there’s a Gofundme that he’s promoting. He always puts Todd’s poster over Tara's when I’m not looking. He blames her for their disappearance, though if you ask me, it's more likely to be the other way around. Todd’s been harassing Tara since they were kids. He’s, like, an asshole on the best of days to everyone, but he’s downright vicious to anyone who’s queer."

  “Queer?” The word didn’t quite make sense.

  Shana shrugged. “I’d bet good money there’s one or more letters of the rainbow that would apply to her, I just don’t know which ones.”

  "How did they go missing?" What was social media, or a Gofundme? Letters of a rainbow? He’d ask Casey to interpret her comments later, he decided.

  "Tara’s uncle runs an appliance repair business, and she was supposed to deliver a fridge to Todd’s house. Her truck was found in his driveway, and neither she nor Todd was ever seen again. Beyond that, it’s all just speculation."

  Simon had learned that a "fridge" was the bespelled cold storage cabinet in Casey’s quarters. It looked heavy, but the girl in the image was built like a draft horse. He'd accept she could handle delivering one.

  Shana turned the book around so that he could see several small pictures attached to a page within. They were all of Todd or people who looked just like him. "I'll let Casey deal with returning these. The Rileys hate me.”

  Then she grinned. It was almost a smirk. “I’m, like, all the things they can’t stand rolled into one neat package, and I’m sure Mark Riley hasn’t forgiven me for the time I had him trespassed from the store for being an ass to the staff, after I trespassed Todd for shoplifting bras. Mark is Todd’s brother, and I should have banned him years before that.”

  “Telling Simon horror stories about the locals already? Mark doesn’t carry a grudge. He’ll tell you himself that he doesn’t have the attention span for it. His baseline is just ‘full-time asshole,’” Casey said, walking into the room. He yawned, opened a glass-front cabinet, took two bottles out, and put four green slips of paper on the counter. Shana stuck the paper in a drawer and gave him a couple of coins in return.

  Simon interpreted that to mean they used bank notes for trade, as was done in the capital of his own country, and also that Casey had just paid for a drink from his own store. He was building a picture of a man of integrity. He would not have believed that just a day ago.

  Casey handed Simon a bottle. "Want a soda? I'm sure you could use some more caffeine."

  “Casey, you’ll get to test that theory about grudges.” Shana lifted the book up so he could see the images on the page.

  “Oh.” Casey scratched his jaw and then twisted the top off the bottle. He chugged half of it. “Joy. Of course my mojo convinced me to buy that unit.”

  On the first sip, Simon learned that the drink was carbonated like beer but did not taste of alcohol. It drew most of its flavor from pure sugar. He'd been hungry for so long that he wasn't inclined to reject anything remotely resembling food, but under normal circumstances, it would have been unpleasantly sweet. Even if he’d wished to, however, he could not have declined the drink since Casey had given it to him.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Shana made a face. “I ran into Mark at the grocery store the other day, and he wouldn’t stop staring. He didn’t say a word; he just kept looking at me like I was a zoo animal.”

  Casey shook his head. “He’s still stuck in small-town seventh grade, and likely always will be. Simon, do you want to get some sleep or tag along with me to Avery's? I need to check on his cats before I head down the hill to see him.”

  While exhausted, Simon couldn’t shake the feeling of being unsafe. Sleep would still be difficult. Plus, on the road visible through the shop's window, he could see numerous fantastical horse-less carts zooming by at impossible speeds. He might only have one chance to witness more of this world's astonishing marvels before Casey sent him home. "I would like to go with you."

  Casey flashed him a bright smile, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Shana was also grinning. Casey shot her a quick look. Shana's smile vanished instantly, though there was a definite twinkle in her eyes.

  "Dude. No, Shana."

  Her amused expression reappeared as if it had never been gone. Her smile was even wider. She was starting to smirk. "He's cute, Casey."

  "No shit, but I don't think I'm his type. He's just a friend."

  Simon's heart thrilled at the word 'friend' and the approval that implied. The reflexive reaction was out of character, and he knew it was the spell. He forced his customary frown, an expression meant to be forbidding, firmly back onto his face. This displeased the geas, and he squinted against the resulting pain.

  Unfortunately, Shana had noticed his initial reaction. She giggled. "Sure, okay. So, is Casey cute or what?"

  He learned that the geas extended to Casey’s employees when, entirely against his will, he admitted, "Very. I like his freckles." Then, he blushed in a way he hadn't since he was a teenage boy. He did not want anyone to know he found Casey attractive. Too often, he’d seen men mocked for admiring other men. It wasn't something to be admitted in polite company in his world.

  Shana snickered, likely at the look on his face.

  "Shana, stop please." Casey's firm voice brought her up short. There was no hint of amusement in it, and she gave him an alarmed look. In a softer tone, he said, "I'm not upset, but there's some context with Simon you don’t have yet. Let's not ask him personal questions."

  She blinked, then turned a newly curious look back in his direction. However, all she said was, "Sorry, Simon.”

  A minute later, outside, out of her earshot, Casey said, "You had to answer her?"

  He unclenched his gritted teeth long enough to say, "Yes."

  "Damn. Going forward, I want to make it clear you are not required to do anything my friends or employees ask."

  “I’m not sure if that will work or not. It likely depends on the context and my perceptions and emotional state. She’s an extension of your command, and if I have reason to believe she’s giving an order you’d want me to follow, I’d still have to obey.”

  "Dammit. Simon, this is all fucked up. I do not want you answering their nosy questions if you’re uncomfortable. Is that clear?"

  He couldn’t meet Casey’s worried gaze, but he nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Hey. For the record, I'm flattered by the interest.” Casey rested a hand on his shoulder. Earnest brown eyes studied him when he glanced up. Whenever Casey looked at him that keenly it felt like the man saw more than just the mundane. "It’s okay.”

  He nodded jerkily. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him, and he could feel a ghost of Casey’s casual grip on his shoulder long after climbing into the ‘truck.’

  Casey showed him how to fasten the seatbelt, then turned a key in a lock. The vehicle came to life with a roaring noise and a deep vibration.

  Simon suddenly understood what powered the vehicle. Once, when settling a dispute between an investor and a mine operator on behalf of Lord Yienry, Simon had seen an enormous coal-powered machine built to pump water from the tunnels. Fascinated, he’d spent hours discussing the theory behind the new invention with the men who’d created it. He’d even made some sketches of the mechanisms.

  Unable to keep the excitement from his voice, he said, “Is this vehicle propelled by a miniaturized steam engine?”

  “It’s the same concept, though it doesn’t use steam.” Casey's eyebrows went up. “Good guess. Avery’s the gearhead, he could explain how cars work a lot better than I can. Or I can get you a book.”

  “Is the book something I could take home with me?” Simon asked eagerly, then was punished by a stab of pain. He was not supposed to ask anything of his master.

  “I am certain we could find you something.”

  Casey backed the truck up, causing Simon to clutch at the seat and door. The movement was smooth but so quick! Then, the vehicle turned, rolled across the parking lot, and accelerated onto the dark surface of the road so fast that it pressed Simon back into the seat. Adrenaline thrilled through his veins. He’d never moved so swiftly in his life.

  The countryside flashed by the window. It was mostly forest, with scruffy-looking pine trees and jagged cliffs. Patches of snow were melting fast. They passed large but skinny, short-haired black cows, then, a moment later, a small herd of the biggest deer he’d ever seen. They were just starting to grow fuzzy nubs of velvet-covered antlers, so Simon realized it must be spring here, too.

  “Bull elk,” Casey identified the animals grazing beside the road. He slowed down as they passed. The elk barely reacted to the truck's passage. “Bit of a road hazard,” he said.

  Simon checked his seatbelt to ensure it was secure. At the speeds they were traveling, it would be dangerous if they hit anything. However, he was enjoying the ride too much to feel any real fear.

  A minute further down the road, Casey braked and then turned onto a dirt road. The truck was fairly smooth, even over the rutted, potholed dirt. Now, Simon wanted diagrams of the suspension system. He’d hated the jolting, rattling ride of his world’s carriages so much that he’d preferred to travel on horseback, no matter the weather.

  The road quickly crested a low ridge and then dropped down into a wide, grassy valley. There were a few widely spaced houses. For the first time, Simon saw horses and a schooling ring. A woman rode a flashy palomino around metal drums in the ring at high speed. It was, he guessed, training for some sort of game. The speed and agility required looked fun. Elynal would have enjoyed it -- and thinking of his horse made anxious worry rise. He hoped that Yienry had been able to recover her. There were many disasters that could befall a loose horse, ranging from injury to theft.

  “I think,” Casey said as they approached a low bridge over a dry waterway, “we will try to send you home tomorrow night after the shop closes. The book’s safe in the cage until then, and it’ll allow both of us a full night’s sleep.”

  Simon wanted to say there was no hurry. However, the geas tightened when he opened his mouth to explain this. He was not able to counter his master’s wishes. He closed his eyes against the pain that rushed through his body when he tried to speak. When he reopened them, a man stood in the middle of the road ahead of them, arm outstretched, thumb up.

  Casey made a surprised noise. “Huh. That’s Mark Riley.”

  Mark was a large, very well-fed man dressed all in black, with a broad-brimmed hat on his head and boots on his feet. Casey mused as they drew closer, “I don’t know if I should stop or play chicken."

  He did halt the truck, though, explaining, “It’s ten miles to town -- and I do need to talk to him.”

  “Casey!” Mark exclaimed, hurrying to the truck with awkward strides. He looked like he was trying to limp on both feet. “Oh, thank God, a friendly face. We are friends, right?”

  “I wouldn’t leave a dog out here, Mark. Car break down?”

  “Asshole of a contractor got mad for no good reason and left me at my mom’s house. I had to call into work, and it’s a brand new job!”

  “Huh. Weird how people are terrible to you all the time. Hop in. Simon, you sit in the middle.”

  Simon found himself squished between the large man and Casey in the middle of the truck's bench seat. Mark smelled very strongly of cologne. Despite the cool morning air, he was moist with sweat, and his bare arms were covered in dark hairs. Tufts of chest hair were visibly poking up out around the top button of his shirt, and if Simon had to guess, the man probably had to shave down to his collarbones if he wanted to appear beardless.

  Simon inched closer to Casey.

  “What’s with the ears?” Mark said as soon as they were underway.

  It was hard to glare at somebody sitting next to you. However, Simon managed to put the equivalent of a scowl into his voice. "Is there something wrong with my ears?”

  “Just saying, are they real or fake?”

  “Mark, leave my friend alone, or I’ll pull this truck over right now.”

  Simon would have interpreted Casey’s tone as a serious threat, but it made Mark laugh. “Okay, Dad. Is this a new boyfriend or just a friend?”

  Casey retorted, “Why, are you looking for a date?”

  Clearly, the two knew each other well enough to trade a few barbs. Simon was trying to justify this exchange with Shana’s open dislike for the man.

  "Fuck you."

  “Watch it, Mark.” Casey’s tone turned cold.

  Mark instantly apologized, with a whine that set Simon’s teeth on edge. "Sorry, I know I gotta be nice, but I think you hate me, especially after what Shaney-girl said about me..."

  "Her name's Shana, and I don't hate you."

  "He lied about what I said, though." The man was pouting.

  "She. I don't hate you, Mark, but I've also known you forever. I gotta believe Shana."

  "I can't believe you hired her to run your store."

  "She's doing a great job of kicking the riff-raff out," Casey replied in a tone of mild amusement.

  "Really? Nobody respects people like him. You need somebody tough as a manager if you're worried about shoplifters. I got a new job at the Dollar Bin, and I'm not letting anyone steal from me! I'm the manager, and what I say goes!"

  Casey's comment about Shana's role had gone over the man's head. Simon bit the inside of his lip to keep his expression neutral.

  Then, with magic on his mind in relation to the former owners of the Book, he realized Mark was unlikely to be any sort of mage. He might have an untrained Gift that the Book could use, but mastering magic took a mix of mental discipline and scholarly study, as well as the ability to work with nuance and attention to detail. This man couldn't even get Shana's name and pronouns right.

  Oh.

  Well, he had met a few other women like her in his travels around Eastland. Some things were universal. Simon thought it was a credit in Casey’s favor that he treated her with clear respect and called her a friend.

  Casey said, "Mark, you know Dollar Bin doesn't always pay its employees, right? When I hired Freddie, he'd just quit there because they claimed the register was short, and they docked his entire paycheck. He's better at math than I am, and I don't think he knows how to lie."

  "Freddie Kreugy’s a 'tard. They won't try that with me."

  Casey’s jaw muscles bunched up, and he gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles went white. "Careful, Mark. Freddie Kreutzburg has been my friend for longer than I’ve known you. He was my next-door neighbor growing up, remember?”

  Mark scowled.

  As if he hadn’t just dealt a rather sharply toned rebuke in response to whatever a ‘kreugy’ or a ‘tard’ was, Casey continued in a pleasant tone, “Hey, you know anything about your mom having a storage unit down in the valley?"

  "She had at least two dozen. If she ran out of space in the house, she’d make me’n Todd load up a moving van, and we’d relocate her trash to a locker. But, she was paranoid that something would happen to a facility, so she spread her crap around to various facilities. There’s only so many storage places in Payson, so she had some units in Mesa and Phoenix, too, and I think in Flag and Globe."

  "I won one.”

  "Sucks to be you.”

  "There were some family pictures in a box. You want them?"

  "Banker box, green albums?"

  "Sounds like it, yeah."

  "Naw. I know what unit those went into. Shit ton of books she got from an estate sale, right? I don't know most of the people in those photos, and I ain't filling my room up with shit I don’t need. Got pics on my phone of the people who matter. Maybe ask Tyler if he wants ‘em."

  "Okay. If you’re sure...”

  “Thanks, man, but no. After you live in a place like my mom’s, you learn to hate clutter.”

  “You know anything about an old book inside an antique chest in the unit?"

  “Oh, fuck that book. Todd used it to make a magical staff and a necklace -- and he had to threaten to set it on fire to make it work for him because it didn’t like him. Casey, I’m not nuts. I saw things happen around it, and I didn't even wanna be in the same room. My mom finally put it in a unit because she was freaked by it, and Todd was completely on board with that. It tried to kill Todd, more than once."

  "I believe you. You’re not crazy. Do you know where he got it? Was it the same estate sale as the other books?" Casey asked casually.

  "He stole it from Fugly." Mark shrugged.

  "Tara owned it?" Casey glanced sharply across Simon at Mark.

  "Yeah, like in seventh grade, Todd snatched her bookbag when she was walking down the street -- it was pretty funny, I’ve never seen her more upset, but she shouldn’t have had something like that where Todd could grab it.

  “Then, Fugly's grandmother came by our house to try to get it back. My ma laughed at her. That old woman told my mom that the owners of the book often come to regret it. Ma thought she was putting a hex on us. I think she was just a crazy old lady who knew her shit when it came to magic. She wasn’t wrong about that damn book."

  "Hm." Casey turned the truck up a driveway to an old stone house. "Mark, why don't you wait out here? Simon and I need to take care of things."

  He pulled the key from the lock on the dash, causing the vehicle to fall silent. Mark said, "C'mon, man. It's cold out here! Can't you leave it running?"

  "I don't want to walk to town, Mark. If you're cold, sit in the sun."

  “Aw, I wouldn’t take your truck.”

  “Mmhm.”